


Pinned - a 2770auc fanfic

by maqcy



Category: Original Work
Genre: 2770 auc, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Anal Sex, Ancient Rome, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom/sub, Gratuitous Smut, Humiliation, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild Painplay, Mild S&M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Dynamics, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Scars, Slavery, Slaves, Verbal Humiliation, and really should have, they don't discuss anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 07:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17137265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maqcy/pseuds/maqcy
Summary: Aureolus knows what he likes is wrong, but he can't help it.





	Pinned - a 2770auc fanfic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mossgreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/gifts), [Imperial_Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperial_Dragon/gifts).



> This is my first (and hopefully not last!!) contribution to Mossgreen's wonderfully detailed and smutty world of 2770auc - a reimagining of Ancient Rome in modern times. Go read Mossgreen's work if you haven't seen it, and check out the community on Dreamwidth at https://2770auc.dreamwidth.org/ :))
> 
> If you've read my stuff before, this one's smuttier than usual xD but still with my usual dose of angst (of course)! Let me know if there's any tags I've missed, and I hope you like it!
> 
> Big thanks to Imperial_Dragon for both introducing me to Moss's work!! And for betaing this for me - all remaining mistakes mine :) And of course, thanks to Moss, for writing her series! I hope we get to hear lots more about Ven and DVM's shenanigans :D And check out Imperial_Dragon's 2770auc fanfic of Gauis and his slave/lover Val - it's wonderful :)

Aureolus rubbed his damp, flushed face tiredly. The warm air and the steam, the firm hands of a slave rubbing oil into his sore muscles followed by the flat, rhythmic scrape of the strigil, had left him feeling exhausted, heavy-limbed and lethargic to his bones. This bathhouse was the cheapest locally, and the only one that ran 24/7. It also didn’t play music out of the speakers, so Aureolus wasn’t assaulted with the discordant tunes of whatever was most popular. The bathhouse was quietest in the morning, when only Aureolus and a few other regulars came to be warm and silent, and Aureolus tended to give them a nod when he came in but he’d never spoken to them and didn’t have any particular desire to do so.

Leaning back with his elbows resting on the edge of the bath, Aureolus lifted his hand to summon a slave, who came over on light, sandal-clad feet. Aureolus gestured to his shoulders vaguely and muttered a grumbling command that he didn’t think was entirely comprehensible, but the slave seemed to gather his meaning. The blank-faced man rubbed oil onto his hands before pressing his fingers into the tense skin as he massaged Aureolus’s aching shoulder, stroking along Aureolus’s broad back with a firm thumb. The slave skirted around the worst of the scarring that twisted up his left shoulder, uncontestably ugly, but despite the slave’s care, the wound still tingled oddly, the ruined nerve endings sending confused signals to his brain.

Aureolus released a tired breath and let his head slump forwards as the slave worked, consciously trying to release the tension that only made the pain from his injury worse, even as it was the pain that made him tense in the first place. He loathed it. The injury felt like the betrayal of the body that had previously served him faithfully, and it frustrated him that even when he babied the injury, massaged it, exercised it carefully, and took his medication as he was supposed to, it still pained him. Now, to his physiotherapist’s chagrin, he only bothered to care for it when the pain was unbearable. He’d gotten used to the constant ache and had resigned himself to hating the sight of himself in the mirror, and to fucking with his clothes on so that his partner didn’t try to touch the scar, or look at him with pity or disgust. 

Aureolus irritably waved the slave away before he abruptly came up to standing, sending the water rolling. He climbed out, pushing his feet into the sandals he’d left on the floor before he stalked through the rooms, dipping only very briefly in the _caldarium_ with gritted teeth before he headed back to the _apodyterium_ where he allowed a slave to brusquely towel him dry. He dressed quickly, his clothing almost inappropriately plain as they always were, before he left to walk home, his mood not at all improved by bathing.  

He flicked idly through his _tabula_ on his way home, seeing a notification that DVM had put up a new video. His cock gave an interested twitch and Aureolus ignored it, even as his stomach squirmed in anticipation. He’d only cave to watching it when he couldn’t stop himself, because what interested him in the videos wasn’t what it should be, which was the squirming, blushing body of DVM’s pretty slave. That was what the commenters would discuss filthily but Aureolus found little interest in the slender slave. No, it was DVM himself, with his strong commands so much like Aureolus’s old military commander that made Aureolus flush wine-dark.

 When Aureolus had signed up as a youth, he had come close to coming in his pants during some of his commander’s verbal tirades, when the tall man would stride back and forth with his thick thighs and tight, harsh mouth. Once, when he was fifteen or so, Aureolus had fumbled a move on the parade square, and his commander had yelled in his face, boxing Aureolus in with his broad shoulders. Aureolus had quivered in the face of it not out of fear but from raw, unadulterated desire. But Aureolus wasn’t a youth anymore and to want what he did was shameful, disgusting even. He’d seen his father spit in the street at the sight of two men of similar ages holding hands and he hadn’t been the only one. Aureolus had just looked away, feeling like he’d swallowed the pit of an olive.

Aureolus quickly flicked through the tabula to find something else to occupy his interest, because remembering his commander was making his cock thicken despite his shame and he was still very much in public.

By the time he’d reached home, his shoulder had started aching again and he glared at the household shrine as he passed it, fighting the urge to kick the damn thing. He hadn’t left offerings in months, leaving it to the sole keeping of his two nervous slaves, Flavius and Valens, who he hardly saw. He’d bought them as a complementary pair with his savings from the military when he’d retired, his funds being fairly substantial from his involvement in keeping various skirmishes suppressed. They kept the house immaculate and did what he asked and, in what he considered a fair return, he left them alone. He didn’t throw large dinner parties for them to cater for, or send them running about on foolish errands, or beat them for the occasional broken bowl, and he’d never taken them to bed.

Valens appeared silently with the usual hearty, simple breakfast fare that didn’t upset Aureolus’s stomach and Aureolus dismissed him, tapping through his _tabula_ to find the history book he was listening to and letting that play as he was eating. The narrator had a pleasantly low and even voice and Aureolus listened as the voice described how Emperor Julianus had not only reformed the failing currency system, but singlehandedly instituted the current political system. Things most citizens knew already, but his schooling had been poor and he hadn’t gone further than the _ludus litterarius,_ a fact he didn’t care to have shared around.

Aureolus had been invited to a dinner party that evening at his patron’s, Marcus Porcius Cato Uticensis; a local politician who was doing well for himself and had been courteous to Aureolus. Aureolus wondered where he’d be placed on the hierarchy at the party and crinkled his nose at the thought of some of the truly awful wine he’d been served in the past, especially before he’d retired and was gifted official Roman citizenship. Born Romans still carried the prestige of their citizenship around like they were gilded in gold, but at least now he was accepted as not just a Dacian barbarian putting on airs, but a military official in his own right.

Aureolus realised he hadn’t been paying attention to the _echoliber_ detailing the Emperor’s life and turned it off irritably.

He spent the rest of the day in a foul mood that seemed to be echoed in the unusually grey sky outside. Valens and Flavius were uncannily attuned to his state of mind and he found sometimes that their behaviour tipped him off that he was behaving irritably before he even realised his own emotions. Today they were silent around him and he heard nothing of them around the _domus_ as he worked on his laptop. Since he’d retired, he worked as a Dacian translator online, but as much as the work kept his retirement fund from dwindling too quickly, and provided tasks to structure his day, it also left him with headaches and searing pain in his scarred shoulder from the typing.

By evening he was itching for _something_ ; some kind of skin-to-skin contact, something to distract him from the inevitable downward turn of his thoughts when he was left alone for too long. He’d resisted the desire to watch DVM’s video earlier but, as the time for the party was drawing near, he regretted it. Maybe it would have taken the edge off of his bad temper, but it was too late now and he stood, arms spread out, as Flavius, the senior of the slave pair, laid Aureolus’s best toga around and over him skilfully. Aureolus checked his reflection in the mirror before he had the slave apply a little gold eyeshadow. He was feeling reckless enough that he didn’t care that people would stare, though he knew the shame would hit him in the morning and he’d spend several hours fretting over who might have seen him and who they would have told. He didn’t take it off, though. His patron had seen him wearing it when they’d met unexpectedly in town and though he’d quirked an eyebrow, he hadn’t commented, and the man’s wife had simply said that it brought out the gold in Aureolus’s eyes. He’d been unable to suppress his grin at the gentle compliment.

Aureolus took a cycleshaw to the event, reaching up to drop down the cover when the grey sky began to spit down rain. The streets emptied as the rain came down more strongly, with only a few dogged slaves hurrying through the downpour, no doubt fulfilling tasks for an impatient master or mistress.

Aureolus made sure to tip the soaked cycleshaw operator well when he paid before a slave came quickly out of Marcus’s house to cover Aureolus with an umbrella and he was escorted into the dry, the marble squeaking until the soles of his damp boots. The slave shook the umbrella off outside as Aureolus patted at his rumpled hair and adjusted his toga; the weight of it unfamiliar. The cold curl of irritation that had lingered all day remained in his stomach and he knew a flat, unwelcoming look was fixed on his features, even as he tried to lighten it.

He was taken through to the _triclinium_ , where a number of guests were already gathered, holding glasses of fragrant wine and talking together lightly, with polite smiles. Aureolus ached, suddenly, for the blunt crudity of his fellow soldiers. At least if they thought him pathetic and a coward, they would tell him to his face and Aureolus could put his fist in their nose to change their opinion. Civilian life meant raised eyebrows and the glittering eyes of bored people as they thrilled at the gossip they would tell of the awkward soldier who wore paint on his face.

But despite the bitter turn of Aureolus’s thoughts, Marcus and his wife, Flavia, greeted him warmly and apparently genuinely and Aureolus relaxed marginally, accepting a cup of wine from the tray of an unusually tall slave with the loam-dark eyes of a native Italian. Aureolus’s gaze lingered too long on the slave’s strong brow and broad shoulders; something he allowed himself with others’ slaves because, unlike citizens, they wouldn’t curl their lip at him for it. But his heart jumped in his chest when the slave shifted his previously unfocused gaze to meet Aureolus’s with blatant defiance, looking shockingly like he was spoiling for a fight.

The slave stalked away and left Aureolus staring after him before he tugged his gaze away, bringing his cup to his mouth to take a long drink, his face flushed. The wine was rich and pleasant and it slid smoothly down his throat. Aureolus’s attention drifted to a petite slave who was also serving drinks and he scrutinised the male, trying to see what it was that turned other men on about the smaller body. But his acknowledgement of the slave’s prettiness was solely objective and a single glance at the larger, dark-eyed slave, who had his back to Aureolus, was enough to elicit a reaction that wasn’t objective in the slightest.

Abruptly exasperated with his body’s frustrating responses and his own prickly, fickle moods, he swallowed the rest of his wine and then another glass, ending up passably tipsy by the time _cena_ was ready and he was directed to his place. The triclinium was set up with three sets of the three couches, a fairly intimate gathering, and Aureolus was placed in a very respectable middling position of importance.

He drank the watered-down wine steadily throughout the well-made meal, picking listlessly over the various delicacies of farmed dormice, and mullet with _garum_ for the _primae mensae_ and then the various sweet fruits of the _secondae_ _mensae_. Lying propped up on the couch made his injured shoulder throb and he was mostly silent, responding only when he was asked questions directly, even though he knew he would profit from forming relationships; that Marcus invited him to parties such as these to help him both settle in socially after he’d left the military, and progress with his translation freelancing, forming a wider client base. But Aureolus just couldn’t focus tonight and he stared instead at the elaborate frescos on the walls of the _triclinium_ without actually seeing the delicate art at all.

The tall slave came in and out with water to wash their fingers and refilled their cups discreetly during the meal. Aureolus’s eyes tracked the slave with lazy interest but the slave didn’t meet his gaze again and a sick shock sparked down Aureolus’s neck when he looked away from the slave and found Marcus’s eyes on him from the nearby table.

 _Shit_ , he thought and dropped his eyes quickly, as if he could deny that he hadn’t been staring, made careless by the drink, at a slave that was both too old and too large to be the focus of Aureolus’s attention. But perhaps Marcus wouldn’t make that leap. Perhaps he would think that Aureolus recognised the slave, or was displeased with him, or something similar. Aureolus hoped wearily that he wasn’t about to lose a good patron and he didn’t drink anymore; only sipping at his cup during the rounds of drink that were offered during the _comissatio_ , even as the other guests grew louder, laughing as if it were easy.

His head cleared a little as time passed and, as he avoided looking at Marcus and at the slave that heated his blood so shamefully, he wanted more and more to just slip away, to go home and wallow in his shame, and to take off the toga that weighed so uncomfortably on his scarred shoulder. He regretted wearing the eye-paint now – he felt too self-conscious as it was.

As soon as possible, he headed for the door, even as leaving without bidding Marcus farewell was inexcusably rude. Aureolus felt like he was crawling out his skin and the latent heated pulse of the wine in his blood wasn’t helping.

“Aureolus!”

The commanding voice made Aureolus freeze on instinct and by the time his mind had caught up with who the voice belonged to, it was too late to pretend he hadn’t heard.

He turned with resignation to face his host, Marcus, who looked sternly at him with dark eyes. Aureolus steeled himself.

“And where are you hurrying off to, young man?”

“I thought it best that I take my leave, sir,” Aureolus said, keeping his voice steady out of long practice of needing to sound and look more collected than he was. But his mask had failed him tonight.

Marcus’s eyebrows drew together and he was silent for a second. Aureolus waited, uncomfortable in the tension but waiting for Marcus to show his hand. The jocular voices of the guests drifted down the hall.

“Come with me a moment,” Marcus said, turning away before Aureolus could answer. Aureolus followed reluctantly as Marcus took him through to the _cubiculum_ ; which was more private than the hallway.

“Has something happened that I ought to be aware of, Aureolus?” Marcus asked, when they were alone. “You seemed distracted and,” Marcus paused, “weary tonight.” Aureolus went to speak, only for Marcus to hold up his hand. “I am aware that you prefer your own company, but I suggested that you try to make conversation with my other clients to gain contacts, especially with those who deal with international clients. You usually do so, as far as I have seen, but tonight you were clearly distracted. So, what is it?”

Aureolus blinked at him for a moment. Again he opened his mouth, intending to bullshit some excuse about being tired, or lacking interest in the other guests, before changing the subject, but Marcus interrupted him again before he could do so.

“Because, Aureolus, if it just my slave that was distracting you, then you need only ask for him and I will lend him to you, though I warn you that he’s difficult. You needn’t be concerned that I’ll think less of you.”

Aureolus was speechless, feeling like the breath had been knocked from his chest. “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he said finally. His scarred shoulder throbbed in time with the beating of his pulse.

Marcus looked at him like he was disappointed. “Refrain from lying to me, Aureolus,” he said mildly. “The tall slave with the dark eyes, yes?”

 “Please don’t mock me,” Aureolus said, strained. “I know it is not considered…appropriate.”

Marcus’s features dipped briefly into something like pity, before they settled into a resolution. Aureolus could only stare at him, nervous to believe that Marcus, a born Roman and a well-established politician, would really be so tolerant. Did he really understand what Aureolus wanted? For a slave to- to- _take_ him, possess him, dishonour him?

“The slave’s name is Curtius,” Marcus said simply. “I’ll have someone take you to a room and hopefully you can enjoy the remainder of the evening at least a little.” He paused. “He is troublesome slave, and strong. Watch yourself with him, alright?”

He held out his hand and Aureolus, after a wary pause, gripped Marcus’s firm forearm in return.

“Thank you, sir,” he said hesitantly. He still couldn’t make himself believe that Marcus was sincere. Perhaps Marcus planned to set him up for future humiliation and the paranoid idea that there might be cameras briefly troubled him. But Aureolus couldn’t see that from the fair-minded, mild man, and why, when Marcus had had no idea of Aureolus’s preferences before tonight? _Maybe he truly doesn’t give a damn_ , a traitorous voice said but Marcus pushed it away, holding onto his wariness because to be left without it would mean showing a painful vulnerability.

Marcus smiled slightly before he stepped away, summoning a slave who then led a stunned Aureolus to a room with a bed. Left alone, Aureolus stood stiffly, unsure what to do with himself.

Minutes passed and Aureolus’s shoulders slumped a little as he waited, his hand rising to cup his injured shoulder. He couldn’t feel the scars through the thick fabric of the toga, but he knew they were there.

Footsteps approached and Aureolus quickly dropped his hand to stand rigid again, staring at the door. Despite, or perhaps because of, his anticipation, Aureolus still startled slightly when the tall slave entered, stepping inside with a scowl etched deeply into his striking face. Aureolus stared at him and the slave glowered back, making Aureolus tense. Marcus had said the slave’s name was Curtius, Aureolus remembered, and he wondered if that was the slave’s birth name, or Marcus’s choice.

The slave, Curtius, took an abrupt step towards Aureolus, anger writ in his posture and Aureolus eyed him.

“If you think, _sir_ ,” Curtius spat, pure fury wrapped up in his low voice. He jabbed a finger at Aureolus. “That I won’t scratch out your goddamn eyes if you try and stick your pathetic cock in me, then you’re a fucking idiot. I will tear off your balls before I let you fuck me.”

Aureolus stood quiet for a second as Curtius’s furious words settled in his head. Then he just nodded and went to sit down on the bed with a tired sigh. “Alright,” he said.

“Alright?” Curtius repeated. Aureolus didn’t look at him but he could sense Curtius bristling. “Why did you send for me, Roman?” he demanded. He released a harsh, short laugh. “I’m not exactly _pretty_ , and you Romans have some serious hang-ups about being emasculated or some shit.”

Aureolus laughed bitterly. “Yes,” he said. “Yes we do.”

“So why?” Curtius demanded. He came further into the room, closer to where Aureolus was sitting, slumped, on the bed. Curtius held such a strong presence in the room and Aureolus felt like his every sense was tuned to the other man.

“Perhaps I’m not a good Roman,” Aureolus said quietly, which was perhaps the closest he’d ever gotten to telling another person what he liked. Oblique as it was, the admission still made his heart pound and blood rise in his face. “I’m Dacian, after all, even as I wear- this.” He lifted his arm, gesturing irritably at his toga.

Curtius was silent for a moment. “Not a good Roman?” he repeated. “Good Romans are rapist assholes.”

Aureolus didn’t acknowledge the words. Just because Aureolus was too squeamish to fuck an unwilling slave himself, didn’t mean it was wrong exactly. Slaves were property, he knew intellectually, even as he looked at Curtius and couldn’t see him as anything but an individual, his own person.

“I thought Marcus wouldn’t wish to be my patron anymore,” Aureolus said mostly to himself, looking at the tiled floor. “Wouldn’t wish to be associated with me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Curtius said. “Why should he care so much about who you fuck?”

Aureolus shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just not considered- _Roman_.”

Curtius narrowed his eyes. “Well he obviously doesn’t care, does he?” he snapped. “Since he’s offering me up to you like a goddamn fucktoy.” He looked Aureolus over with blatant disgust and Aureolus felt awful under the weight of it.

“I- didn’t-” he said awkwardly, sweating. His shoulder ached. He gathered himself and straightened his spine a little. “I didn’t ask for you, and I didn’t mean for you to think- that.”

“You didn’t take your fucking eyes off me during _cena_ ,” Curtius accused.

Aureolus clenched his jaw and fought the urge to apologise. “Well,” he said, and then never finished. There wasn’t anything to say.

“Are you a virgin?” Curtius said suddenly, his head cocked, and Aureolus startled. “Is that why he wants you to get laid? Why you’re so- nervous?”

“No,” Aureolus said sharply, his mind flicking back to his time in the army, remembering the whorehouses he’d visited in strange places, goaded there by other soldiers. There had been a couple of unsatisfying fucks with younger recruits when he’d been desperate in recent years, and then, of course, that one time that still made his blood heat, when he’d still been young enough for it to be acceptable and a more senior soldier had pressed Aureolus to the ground inside his tent and barely gained Aureolus’s garbled consent before he’d fucked him roughly right there on the mat. Aureolus swallowed at the memory.

Curtius was staring shrewdly at him and Aureolus’s gaze skittered away as he ducked his head, his skin crawling under those dark eyes.

“You’re not a virgin?” Curtius pressed. Aureolus looked at him, scowling. “Defensive, aren’t you?” Curtius said, not cruelly, though there was animosity in his tone.

“You don’t behave anything like a slave,” Aureolus retorted. “Your manners are appalling.”

Curtius glowered down at him from his superior height, Aureolus’s position on the bed making him feel small.

“So do something about it,” Curtius said, a certain ugly violence to the twist of his mouth that seemed to challenge Aureolus to do his very worst.

“You’re not my slave,” Aureolus said and leaned backwards. “It’s not-” His eyes shot open in shock when Curtius put a hand over his mouth, silencing him. They stared at each other for a long second, too long, Aureolus realised too late. He shoved Curtius’s arm away and Curtius let him, but there was some kind of _knowing_ in Curtius’s face.

“You’re a soldier, aren’t you?” Curtius said, standing close enough that his bare legs brushed against Aureolus’s knees. “I think you liked taking orders.” Aureolus blanched in shock and Curtius watched him sharply, seeming on edge. It was a dangerous game he was playing. He was behaving in a way that Aureolus could have him flogged for, or worse. But Curtius must have read something Aureolus’s face because heat flashed in his eyes and he didn’t back down. “You liked being put in your place.”

Aureolus eyed Curtius like the slave was a wild creature, which he was. What Curtius was saying- what he seemed to have picked out of the mess of Aureolus’s head, scared Aureolus, but it thrilled him too; bringing that same rush of danger that had been so absent from his dull civilian life. He glanced at the door, though he wasn’t sure if he was thinking of running, or checking it was closed. Maybe both.

“Go on, leave,” Curtius taunted, seeing his glance.

Aureolus looked at the door again. But he didn’t move.

“So that’s what you want,” Curtius said, his voice dark and delighted. His hard, rough palm curled around Aureolus’s skull, gripping his hair and Aureolus’s breath hitched. His hands came up as if to push Curtius away, but they never made contact. Curtius lowered his head to be close to Aureolus’s ear, even as he gripped Aureolus’s hair tight enough to sting. “You want to be fucked then, Roman. You want my cock up your arse, _pathicus_?”

Aureolus breathing hitched in his chest and panic fluttered there for a sharp moment. This wasn’t _safe_ , wasn’t good, would end badly. Curtius tugged on his hair and Aureolus made a wounded noise and glanced up at the slave warily. Aureolus feared that Curtius was entirely capable of pinning Aureolus down if he took it into his mind to do so, even with Aureolus’s military training.

But Curtius let go of Aureolus’s hair and took a step back, looking down at him with a slight smirk twitching on his lips.

“If you want this,” he said coolly, “then you’ll have to show me.”

“Show you?”

Curtius didn’t answer but just looked at him. Alongside the arrogant set of his mouth, curiosity lay in his gaze as he studied Aureolus, although dislike was still evident. Aureolus licked his lips, desire and caution warring inside him, but desire was fast winning out, what with how Curtius was standing there, looking at him.

Aureolus swallowed, sending several glances up at Curtius’s face as he tried to gage the man’s mood. Then, his stomach tight and sick, he slowly pushed himself off the bed to stand. With fumbling fingers, he unwound his toga, dropping it in a limp heap at the end of the bed, shivering in just his tunic. Curtius was silent and Aureolus didn’t dare look at him. Feeling like he wasn’t quite attached to his own body, he lowered himself to the floor at Curtius’s sandal-clad feet, the hard floor under his knees grounding him. His heart was going painfully fast. Waiting for Curtius to laugh at him.

He heard Curtius inhale but couldn’t make himself look up.

“Good boy,” Curtius said softly and Aureolus shivered, his cock beginning to fill beneath his tunic, throbbing. He was trembling slightly, overwhelmed and flushed with adrenaline, but he didn’t move, waiting for Curtius.

Curtius’s hand palmed Aureolus’s jaw roughly before his thumb stroked over Aureolus’s left eyelid, making Aureolus close his eyes. When he opened them he saw Curtius looking at the slight glittery smear on his thumb.

“You’re even painted like a whore,” Curtius said quietly and Aureolus flushed with shame. “Did you hope someone would see this and understand? Pin you to a wall somewhere and show you your place?”

Aureolus stared at the tiles between Curtius’s feet, unsure whether this was really happening. Curtius was a fucking _slave_ , and yet Aureolus had gone willingly to his knees for the man. But before his thoughts could spiral into a dead-end, Curtius took hold of Aureolus’s chin, jerking his head up.

“I asked you a question,” he said dangerously.

Aureolus blinked at him and tried to remember what Curtius had asked. “I- I don’t know,” he said roughly.

Curtius backhanded him casually, snapping Aureolus’s head to the side even as the blow hadn’t been particularly hard. “Liar,” he said lightly. He pressed a finger into Aureolus’s mouth while Aureolus’s head was still spinning from Curtius’s slap, feeling the sting of blood rising in his cheek.

Curtius’s cool finger poked at Aureolus’s tongue, pressing down, before he hooked it behind Aureolus’s front teeth and tugged him forwards a short way, eliciting a noise of shock from Aureolus and bringing him closer to Curtius’s groin.

Curtius took his finger away, wiping saliva on Aureolus’s face and making Aureolus twitch away.

“Suck me, Roman,” Curtius said, tugging his own tunic up and over his head, carelessly revealing his firm, hard body, his flushed cock jutting forwards.

Aureolus glanced nervously up, and, stalling, he lifted his hand to wipe the lingering wetness from his face, only for Curtius to catch his wrist.

“Don’t make me ask again,” Curtius said with a pseudo-gentleness that made Aureolus’s gut tighten in response to the threat behind it, Curtius’s fingers compressing the bones in Aureolus’s wrist in a bruising grip.

Aureolus managed a nod but Curtius kept hold of his wrist, though he lightened the pressure a little. Aureolus shifted forwards, eying Curtius’s cock for a moment before he lifted his chin and took the red, salty head into his mouth, being careful with his teeth. He ran his tongue exploratively over Curtius’s skin, probing lightly at Curtius’s slit and tasting salt and bitterness. Above him, Curtius’s breathing hitched and, encouraged, Aureolus took more into his mouth. He’d never done this before, though he’d had it done to him and tried to remember what he’d liked.

One hand still clenched around Aureolus’s wrist, Curtius slid harsh fingers through Aureolus’s hair, holding on to him even as he let Aureolus set the pace, feeling out the shape of Curtius in his mouth. The heat, the taste, and the pressure of Curtius’s hand in his hair, was making Aureolus’s cock twitch.

“Swallow,” Curtius said, his voice gruff.

Aureolus tried, his throat working around the thick weight of Curtius on his tongue as saliva pooled thickly in his mouth and Curtius groaned, his hips thrusting forwards so that the head of his cock bumped the back of Aureolus’s throat, making him cough.

Curtius let him draw off for a moment, before he tugged on Aureolus’s hair, dragging him back. Aureolus choked once before he got his breathing under control and tried to relax and let Curtius deeper into his throat as the man nudged his cock forwards, bullying his way into Aureolus’s throat.

“So fucking tight, Roman,” Curtius said.

Aureolus could only control his reactions for a short while before Curtius roughly hit the back of his throat and he choked, his shoulders jerking. He tried to pull back, only for Curtius to tighten his grip with a heavy groan, shoving into Aureolus’s throat in a move that made Aureolus’s eyes fly open, his chest spasming. He grabbed at Curtius thigh, his captured wrist jerking in Curtius’s hold, but Curtius didn’t let up for several seconds and, when he did finally withdraw, Aureolus doubled over, coughing wetly as saliva spattered on the floor.

“Breathe,” Curtius ordered and, wetly, Aureolus did, sucking in breaths. Curtius just looked down at him, slowly stroking his cock.

When Aureolus’s breathing had settled a little, Curtius combed his fingers through Aureolus’s sweat-damp hair. “You should see yourself,” he said huskily, sounding far too collected. He looked down at Aureolus with something like triumph on his features, his dark brows draw down. He fisted his cock and pressed the head back against Aureolus’s lips. “Open up, cocksucker,” he said and the words went straight to Aureolus’s groin.

He let Curtius push his cock back into his mouth, doing his best to relax his throat when Curtius shoved his cock forwards with sharp, short thrusts of his hips, his cock dragging painfully at the inside of Aureolus’s throat, even as some part of him relished the ache of it.

His chest spasmed as he choked again and Curtius kept him there for several seconds before he pulled out with a filthy, wet noise. He tugged on Aureolus’s hair and Aureolus, still gasping, looked up. Curtius smirked and Aureolus flushed darkly.

“You’re a mess,” Curtius said smugly. “Up,” he ordered, tugging at Aureolus, and Aureolus stumbled to his feet, dragging his forearm across his spit-slick mouth and jaw.

Curtius released him only to roughly push him onto the bed. Aureolus let himself be shoved onto his back, tracking Curtius’s movements as the desperate need to please grew larger in his chest. He wanted to be _good_ , he wanted Curtius to come, and to praise Aureolus again in that thick voice.

Curtius’s large hands palmed down Aureolus’s body as the taller man followed Aureolus onto the bed, positioned over Aureolus like a feeding lion. Curtius gripped Aureolus briefly, roughly, between his legs and Aureolus bucked upwards with a half-pained, shocked gasp and Curtius laughed lowly.

“Needy _cinaedus_ ,” he said softly before he was reaching for the hem of Aureolus’s tunic, tugging at it.

For the first time since Curtius had strode inside, Aureolus threw up his hands and grabbed at Curtius’s arms, halting him.

“Leave it,” he said.

Curtius stopped, clearly surprised, before his eyes narrowed and he pushed against Aureolus’s grip to snatch at the tunic. But a sharp fear seized Aureolus at the thought of Curtius seeing his scars.

“ _No_ ,” he snapped, kicking out at Curtius’s thigh as he shoved roughly with his not inconsiderable strength, knocking Curtius back to sit on his haunches, looking confused and frustrated. Aureolus watched him, tense and breathing too fast.

“What the fuck is the matter?” Curtius demanded.

“Just leave it on,” Aureolus insisted. Curtius glared at him, his gaze passing over Aureolus in an analytic manner.

“Why?” he demanded. “Don’t tell me you’ve been seized by modesty _now_ , Roman.”

“I’m not Roman,” Aureolus found himself saying.

Curtius shifted forwards and Aureolus leaned back warily, but Curtius just settled heavily on Aureolus’s legs, pinning him there, but giving Aureolus space, too.

“I don’t know your name,” Curtius said with a one-shouldered shrug, sounding frustrated.

“It’s Aureolus.”

“Aureolus,” he repeated, making Aureolus’s stomach tighten. “Take off your damn tunic, _Aureolus_.” Aureolus stiffened again and shook his head silently. Curtius reached again to do it himself but Aureolus slapped his hands harshly.

“ _No_ ,” he snapped, before trying to tug his legs free from Curtius’s weight, suddenly upset and overwhelmed. “I asked you to _leave it_ ,” he said, his throat thick. He couldn’t pull himself free and Curtius had taken hold of his upper arms, holding him still. The man was frowning at him.

“Alright,” he said, “alright, Aureolus, calm down.”

Aureolus realised his breathing had hitched into sharp gasps and he closed his eyes as he tried to steady it, finding perverse comfort in Curtius’s firm fingers on his arms and the grounding weight of him on his legs.

“Sorry,” Aureolus said, twisting his head to the side, the tendon tight at his neck.

“Yeah,” Curtius said, rubbing a hand over Aureolus’s hair like he was soothing a fretting creature. “Tunic stays on. Fine.”

Aureolus’s released a relieved breath, looking to Curtius and finding the man eying him with a frown. Aureolus rubbed his face, feeling the heaviness of Curtius’s disappointment weighing uncomfortably on him.

“Lie down,” Curtius said, still looking at him like Aureolus had unsettled him. His cock, previously hard and leaking, had subsided a little and Aureolus chewed his lip, wishing he could have been better.

Aureolus quietly did as Curtius had asked, lowering himself to lie on his back, feeling the lingering tension in the air. Curtius was still pressing down on Aureolus’s thighs, looking down at him, before he climbed off Aureolus and nudged Aureolus’s thighs apart, shifting so that he was instead between Aureolus’s legs. Curtius’s gaze stayed locked on Aureolus’s face, all the smugness faded into solemnity as he hooked a hand under one of Aureolus’s knees and pushed his leg up and back towards his chest, the muscles in his arm flexing. Aureolus’s tunic climbed up to gather around his hips but he ignored it. As long as his scarred shoulder stayed covered, he didn’t care.

He said nothing to halt Curtius as the man’s hand passed possessively up Aureolus’s thigh, and Aureolus dropped his head back as Curtius pressed a thick finger inside him, just slightly too fast.

“Is there-?” he said, before Curtius pushed harder, shoving the whole of his finger inside Aureolus and making him cry out quietly. Curtius flexed the digit and Aureolus squirmed, one hand lying over his face.

Curtius started to push a second finger in, before Aureolus tensed, his stomach muscles tightening with a flinch at the pressure/pain and he hissed through his teeth. Curtius withdrew and Aureolus looked up, alarmed, when he felt Curtius climb off the bed.

“Easy, stay there,” Curtius said in response to the soft, shameful noise that had come out of Aureolus’s mouth. Aureolus turned to see Curtius looking through a cabinet by the bed, returning to Aureolus with a vial of lubricant and, Aureolus was relieved to see, a condom, which he slid onto his hard cock.

“Turn over,” Curtius said and Aureolus obeyed. Curtius patted Aureolus’s arse humiliatingly and Aureolus turned to shoot a glare over his shoulder, only for Curtius to grab his head and push it briefly down into the mattress. “You’ll take what you’re given, _pathicus_ ,” he said, before pushing Aureolus’s tunic up, exposing his arse. Aureolus tensed, but Curtius made no move to remove the tunic further and he rested his head on his arm, his cock painfully hard where it was pressed into the mattress.

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Curtius taunted, right before he pushed lubed fingers back inside Aureolus, prepping him carelessly. “To be made to just _take it_?” He punctuated his question with a hard thrust of his fingers and Aureolus shoved his face into the mattress to muffle his noises, at least until Curtius grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked him up, arching his back and provoking a hitched gasp at the sting. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Curtius pressed, demanding.

“Yes,” Aureolus gasped. “Alright, _yes_.”

Pulling his fingers out with a long, slick drag, Aureolus felt Curtius shift behind him, palming his arse briefly before the blunt, hot head of Curtius’s cock was nudging at Aureolus’s entrance and Aureolus clenched his eyes shut and tried to stay relaxed, expecting Curtius to thrust roughly forwards.

He didn’t anticipate the slow push of Curtius’s cock as he moved, filling Aureolus up, forceful but controlled, his hand clenched tight in Aureolus’s hair. Aureolus whined softly at the continuous drag of it, the sensory overload of Curtius’s slowness. Curtius paused only once to place a hand on Aureolus’s lower back, shoving him down into a better angle, knocking the breath out of Aureolus and allowing another inch of Curtius’s length to shove into him. Without letting Aureolus adjust, he kept pressing forwards, driving Aureolus’s hips into the bed until he was flush with Aureolus’s arse.

“Fuck,” Aureolus muttered, his hands fisted.

Curtius’s hand shifted down from Aureolus’s hair to grip his shoulder and pull him backwards. Pain sparked through the fucked-up scar tissue under the dig of Curtius fingers and Aureolus dropped his shoulder with a sharp noise of pain, pulling it out of Curtius’s grip. With Curtius’s cock buried inside him, Aureolus felt Curtius shift backwards slightly before stilling.

“Not that shoulder,” Aureolus gritted out reluctantly, wishing that he hadn’t pulled away; had just braced through the pain until Curtius was done and satisfied. _He’s a stranger and a slave!_ a small voice cried, but he paid it no attention. It didn’t matter who Curtius was, not when he was on top of Aureolus like this. Aureolus wanted it to be _good_ for Curtius, because Curtius was giving him so much of what Aureolus desperately wanted and Aureolus felt like he had so little to give back.

“Not that shoulder, right,” Curtius repeated to himself, before reaching up to take Aureolus’s other shoulder in a firm but wary grip. Aureolus exhaled roughly, hating that he’d broken the mood _again_. In an attempt to compensate he pushed back against Curtius’s cock and Curtius’s breathing caught audibly.

“Oh no,” he said, amusement coiling in his tone. With one hand on Aureolus’s shoulder, he put the other on Aureolus’s hip, short fingernails digging into his skin even through his tunic. “You don’t get to decide the pace, _cinaedus_. Your job is to lie there and take it, remember?”

Holding onto Aureolus’s shoulder, Curtius fucked roughly into him and Aureolus cried out sharply. The burst of pain in his shoulder had dampened his arousal briefly but he was again desperately hard.

“Touch me,” he begged. “Please, _please_.” He tried to press up but Curtius’s hand on his hip pinned him down.

Curtius laughed quietly, darkly, fucking forwards again hard enough to leave Aureolus gasping. “No,” he said.

Aureolus whined at the denial, given no choice to just _feel_ as Curtius kept fucking him with quick, harsh thrusts, his breathing getting steadily more uneven, gusting hot and damp over the back of Aureolus’s neck.

“Jupiter’s prick, you’re a good fuck,” Curtius gritted out and Aureolus clenched around Curtius’s cock, wanting to please him more than ever, not least because his cock was throbbing urgently and he knew if he just rutted into the mattress, he’d come. But he held off, because he wanted Curtius’s rough hands on his cock, a smug smile on the man’s strong, striking face as Aureolus came.

“Gods,” Curtius said, shoving himself inside Aureolus harder. “I’m- _fuck_ ,” Curtius stilled, fingers clawed around Aureolus’s hip as he jerked, his cock twitching inside Aureolus as he came with a rough cry, rutting shallowing into Aureolus’s painfully oversensitive hole as he rode out his orgasm.

He slumped, panting, over Aureolus, though he kept most of his weight on his arms rather than pressing down on Aureolus’s back. Aureolus waited as long as he could bear for Curtius to get his breath back before he jerked his hips slightly, feeling the rub of Curtius’s half-hard cock inside and cringing in painful arousal.

“Please,” he begged. “Curtius, _please_.”

Curtius eased up, sliding out of Aureolus and Aureolus made a soft noise of denial. “Were you waiting for me?” Curtius asked, breathless but blatantly smug. “Roll over, bitch.”

Aureolus was too close to release to care what Curtius called him and the taunts only turned him on. He scrambled to turn over, even as he winced at the slick, sore hollowness in his arse where Curtius’s cock had just been buried. Aureolus’s cock lay red and glistening against his bared belly, his face sticky with tears, and Curtius’s flushed face curled up into a smirk before he leant over to run a fingernail down the slight curve of Aureolus’s cock.

“Fuck!” Aureolus cried, buckling upwards, before Curtius pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him back down.

“That looks sore. You going to ask me nicely to kiss it better?”

“Please, Curtius, please, please, I want- I want- _please_ ,” Aureolus gabbled, his hips pressing up, seeking Curtius hand, which was hovering just out of reach.

“Alright,” Curtius soothed. He pushed Aureolus’s tunic a little further up so that it was gathered around his ribs before he took a firm hold on Aureolus’s cock.

It was fucking heavenly and Aureolus’s head dropped back as he arched up, his arm coming up to cover his face, overwhelmed and desperate and feeling like his skin was alight.

“Look at you,” Curtius said, quiet enough that Aureolus wasn’t sure he was even meant to hear it.

Then Curtius stroked Aureolus’s cock, his grip firm and perfect, rolling his palm over the head, and Aureolus was coming, jerking as he cried out and come spattered up his chest and belly, landing on his rumpled tunic and flecking his throat.

He collapsed, exhausted and breathing hard, one calf threatening to cramp after being curled so tightly for so long. He lay, taking silent comfort from the warm, damp pressure of Curtius’s palm on his chest, even though he couldn’t bring himself to look at Curtius, but left his arm draped over his eyes, as if he could hide from what they’d done.

“Was I good?” he murmured, before he realised that he’d meant to say, _Was it good?_ He forced himself to lower his arm to watch Curtius face, only to blink in surprise when Curtius cupped his face.

“Yeah, you were fucking good, Aureolus. Catch your breath, alright?”

“Good idea,” Aureolus managed and he heard Curtius laugh before he let himself sink into the mattress, just being for a moment as his cock went quiescent and his breathing slowed.

He jumped slightly when the mattress dipped beside him and his eyes came open to see Curtius looking down at him, offering him a cloth.

“Oh. Thanks,” Aureolus managed and pushed himself up to seated to press the cloth to the come splattered on his tunic, grimacing at how it would stain. Curtius reached towards him, plucking the cloth out his hands to bring it to Aureolus’s neck, nudging Aureolus’s chin up to swipe the skin underneath.

“Missed a bit,” he said, a smile still twitching at the side of his mouth. Aureolus blushed and ducked his head and Curtius reached over to drag Aureolus into his lap, biting gently at his neck.

“I enjoyed that,” he said.

The warmth in Aureolus’s chest glowed hot and he turned to Curtius with a self-conscious smile. “Good,” he said, before he looked down, fiddling with the hem of his tunic. “I’m sorry-” he started.

Curtius pressed a hand over his mouth and Aureolus startled, looking up at him.

“Don’t be sorry,” Curtius said, before he dropped his hand and his eyes dipped down to Aureolus’s lips. Aureolus leaned slightly towards him and Curtius took that for the invitation it was and pressed his lips to Aureolus’s; chaste but firm and certain, reassuring. Aureolus relaxed, curling closer.

When they came apart, Curtius pressed a hand to Aureolus’s cheek to tuck his head under Curtius’s chin and Aureolus held onto him. They were silent for a long time, Aureolus’s skin slowly cooling and making him shiver. Curtius held him tighter.

“Your shoulder is injured,” he said.

Aureolus stiffened and trying to ease away, but Curtius wouldn’t release him and Aureolus relented, nodding tiredly.

“Show me?”

“No. It’s ugly,” Aureolus muttered.

“I don’t care,” Curtius said.

This time when Curtius’s hands moved to remove Aureolus’s tunic, Aureolus reluctantly let him. This was probably never going to happen again and he was too wrung-out to fight Curtius. _Let him see it_ , Aureolus thought, _then he’ll be glad that he hadn’t had to look at it when we were fucking_.

Aureolus lifted his arms to let Curtius tug the stained tunic off, wincing at the pain in his overwrought shoulder, which ached after the strain of being manhandled and then fucked.

Curtius unabashedly studied Aureolus’s scars, stroking a flat hand over the ugly, dark-pink threads of them, buckled and foul against his skin, deforming the shape of his shoulder. It was a credit to how tired Aureolus was that he stood Curtius’s gaze without shoving the man away.

“How did this happen?” he asked, a faint frown on his handsome face.

Aureolus sighed. “Fucking laser-bayonet,” he muttered grimly. “Fucker came up behind me. Only reason he didn’t cut my damn arm off was because the weapon short-circuited while it was stuck in my shoulder-blade. Apparently I’m lucky I can use my arm at all.” He looked down at his fingers, flexing them idly. It had taken several hours of reconstructive surgery on his shoulder and then months of physiotherapy. He’d hated it so much.

“You’re a tough fucker, aren’t you?” Curtius said, before dragging a hand through Aureolus’s tangled hair.

“Ow,” Aureolus complained as Curtius’s fingers caught on several knots. Curtius just smirked and tugged again and Aureolus slapped him half-heartedly on the shoulder. “Dick,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Curtius agreed. “You want to do this again, Roman?”

Aureolus looked up sharply. “You’d want to? Even with-” his gestured to his shoulder. Curtius shot him a look like he was being thick.

“Of course I would,” he said. “You could have had twenty nipples and I would still want to fuck you again.” He tweaked Aureolus’s nipple for emphasis and Aureolus squirmed.

“Fine,” he said, even as he eyed Curtius with tentative hope. “I’d like that,” he added, softer.

Curtius grinned. “’Course you would,” he said, but his eyes were warm and Aureolus smiled back and let himself be held. It felt good.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! So what did you think?? Smut isn't my main thing but I had fun with this - let me know what you thought!


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